That's Wizard's Chess
by Mycroftmalfoy
Summary: Ron's need to feel special leads him to make an impulsive decision.


That's Wizard's Chess

A/N I don't own Harry Potter and I am not making any money from this fiction.

Ron Wesley know he was lucky to be one of the Golden Trio at Hogwarts. He was average in almost every way. He was not brilliant but he was an adequate student. He was pleasant looking but not really handsome. He was brave and loyal but not more so than other Gryffindor. Deep down he know he would be overshadowed by his brothers even if he had been the oldest rather than the youngest. He tried to be good natured about it, but it bothered him.

There was one small area where he excelled. He played wizard's chess well. He could beat anyone in his family by the age of three. By the time he was six, his father would bring him to the Ministry of Magic cafeteria on weekends and offer his collages a game against Ron. The wagers made on these games had paid tuition not only for Ron to attend Hogwarts but for Ginny and the twins as well. Still, being good at a game rarely was very helpful in life.

After he, Hermione and Harry had prevented the theft of the philosopher's stone, word of his ability had spread through Hogwarts. The beginning of his second year had been memorable as he was constantly challenged to matches against sixth and seventh year students. He never lost a match. Ron was calm and focused when he played. The nerves that plagued him during exams and quidditch were absent even during the most challenging match. Soon, there were no more opponents.

One cold January morning during his third year, an owl approached Ron while he was walking on the grounds. He was stomping angry through the snow. Percy had been on him to study harder, saying his marks were a disgrace to the family. Ron had almost walked into the owl before he knew it was there. "Watch out!" he snapped at the bird. The owl let him remove the message and returned to the owlery as quickly as possible.

Ron stared at the parchment with a puzzled expression. It read: YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED. Be in the basement of Honeyduke's next Tuesday by midnight, A red button is the portkey. Tell it you are Twenty. Come alone. Tell no one. Ron had started to reread the message when it burst into flames.

Ron thought about it all weekend. He started to tell Harry and Hermione several times but something held him back. By Monday, he had made his decision. He had to go. He would always wonder if he didn't find out what the note was about.

At 11:30 on Tuesday, he took the Marauder's map and made his way to the statue that covered the entrance to the tunnel. Thanks to the map, he encountered no one. As he made his ways along the long dark tunnel, he began to worry. By the time he reached the trap door leading into the basement, he could almost hear Hermione's voice chiding him for his impulsive decision. At 11:57 he stood staring at the large red button sitting at the edge of a dusty table. He picked it up. 11:59 Ron bit his lip, "I'm Twenty," he whispered.

Ron opened his eyes to find himself in a small but crowded room. There were ten small tabled each with two chairs. The room was otherwise unfurnished. A fire burned in the fireplace giving the room is only light. There were no windows and more strangely, no door.

The room was strange but not as strange as its occupants. A short chubby man with graying black hair offered Ron a hand up from where we had landed on the floor. "I'm One," the man said, shaking Ron's hand.

" I'm Twenty?" Ron said with the question obvious in his tone.

"Not yet, but you could be. I know you must have many questions but it will save time if you let me explain. We are all eager to start playing"

"OK" He was struggling to think of any explanation but could not come up with anything plausible.

"Our little club has been in existence continually for more than five hundred years. We meet four times a year to play chess. This motley crew are the nineteen best players alive today."

Ron looked around and was shocked to see some familiar long platinum blond hair. "That Luc..."

"We don't use names here," the man interrupted. "That's one of the rules. The parchment invites the best player to join when one of our members dies." He pointed to a scrap of parchment on the windowsill. "Our tradition are sacred. There are rules and we follow them. For example, once you start a game you must finish it. There are no quitters here." One smiled. What makes playing in the club different is that you must identify yourself with one piece and suffer the consequences when that piece is taken. I'm sure you are familiar with this concept?

"Yeah, I familiar with it."

"You may choose any piece and your opponent won't know which unless your moves tip him off. If you don't regain consciousness in five minutes, you forfeit. Ah, I can guess what you are thinking. Why not always choose to be the king. Well, a checkmate is the symbolic death of the king so if you 'are' the king and loose…Well I'm sure you can draw the correct conclusion.

"Draw a conclusion! You guys are nuts!."

"I assure you we are all quite sane. There are several million wizards in the world. The men and women in this room are the best players. Winning here means something. Being invited to join is the greatest honor you will ever receive. Look around you. If you beat everyone in this room you will be a world champion. Perhaps, you have better things to do?"

Ron was silent for a moment. "I'm Twenty, lets play."

" Not so fast." One held out his hand and the small piece of parchment flew to it. "As I said, there are traditions, customs, rules to belong to an esteemed society like ours. You must sign the charter. Ron stared at the parchment. The charter was written in Latin. Ron hesitated. "It merely states agree to keep the club secret, attend all meetings and play to the best of your ability." Ron though about the implication that you could die from identifying with the king. It seemed like a sick joke. No one would choose to be king? Signing something you couldn't read seemed like the sort of thing Hermione would lecture him about. Ron looked around the room. Lucius Malfoy was looking at him with an expression Ron had never seen before, respect. He signed.

Ron won his match that night. He had been paired with a witch from China and it had been the most exciting match of his life. When he had taken her bishop she crumpled to the floor in agony. It had only lasted a few minutes but Ron had looked away, unable to watch.

The club met in April and then in July. The owls always came when he was alone. At first, he felt a little guilty. He was keeping a secret from everyone he loved. Further, after that first night, he had watched his opponent's pain with little compassion. He didn't exactly enjoy it as some members seemed to but he did not turn away. It bothered him that he seemed to be adjusting to the idea of hurting others, but they knew what they signed up for. As much as there was guilt, there was also pride. He was by far the youngest player in the club. He had beaten three opponents and never had his identity piece taken. Once, when he accompanied his father to the office, they had run into Lucius Malfoy. He had shook Ron's hand and said, "Good to see you Mr. Weasley." He had ignored Arthur Weasley entirely. Ron had felt a surge of arrogant pride.

Ron was eager to attend when he got the owl announcing the October meeting. He was partnered with a tall muscular British wizard. Ron knew the man almost always discovered and took his opponents identity piece, even loosing the game if he had to. Ron was nervous until the match began. Most of the members were eccentric but Ron knew he would avoid this man anywhere but here. The man, Eight, was good at the psychology of intimidation. He didn't say a word. He stared into Ron's eyes and smiled in a way that did not indicate happiness. Ron calmed down after the first few moves, glad he had changed his identity piece from the knight he had always used to a rook.

The game progressed and Ron discover they were equally skilled. Ron deliberately took the piece he thought was Eight's identity, something he had not done before, but he had guessed wrong. After twenty intense minutes, Eight took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. There it was. The dark mark was black against the man's pale forearm. Ron was suddenly aware that he was fourteen, skinny for his height and that not one person who cared about him knew where he was. Ron was afraid.

"What's wrong, little boy," the man scoffed, "Want your mommy?"

Ron drew a shaky breath and forced himself to concentrate. He began to play more aggressively, taking chances. He was gaining the advantage when it happened. Ron lost his rook. He saw it coming two moves ahead. Sweat poured down his back.

He lay on the floor moaning for almost two minutes but forced himself to stay conscious. When he forced his eyes open, Eight was smiling. "Let me finish you of quickly and you can go home." Most of the others had finished their games and had gathered around to watch. There was a lot of restlessness, whispering and shuffling of feet.

Ron returned to his chair. He was angry for reasons he didn't quite understand. Suddenly, he had to win. His focus narrowed and he saw the game with new clarity. He knew he could win. There were only three ways for Eight to move and they would all end with Ron's victory. Eight saw it too. He had a look of complete shock. Ron smiled.

The last few moves played out quickly. Lucius moved over to put a hand on Eight's shoulder; a look passed between them. Eight made his final doomed move. Ron moved and said, "Checkmate." The smile faded from his face when he realized what everyone in the room already knew. Eight was dead.

"Well Nineteen, I'll see you in January," One said calmly.

"No, no never….I'll never, no." the tears poured down Ron's face.

"You have to. Most people identify with the king while they are still a double digit. There is only one way out. The full horror of it hit Ron. Four times a year for the rest of his life, he would risk killing someone. He would never even know their names. He was Nineteen now. He started to shake.

"And if you ever deliberately through a match, I'll kill you myself," One continued in a pleasant, conversational voice. This man had stood by and watched at least nineteen people die, Ron looked around at the calm faces of the others. None showed any grief except for a single tear on the face of the little witch he had played on the first night.

Ron was on his way to being a champion, the best in the world, more special and unique than he had ever dreamed. One day soon he would be a king.


End file.
